val of Dollops lighted a spark of great interest in the servants'
hall. The newly engaged maids accepted him for his youth and sharp
manners, as an innovation which they rather fancied than otherwise.
Borkins alone stood aloof. It seemed to the man that here, in Dollops'
lithe, young form, in the very ginger of his carrotty hair, in the
stridency of this cockney accent--which Cleek had endeavoured to
eradicate without a particle of success--was the reembodiment of the
older, shorter, more mature James Collins. To hear him speak in that
sharp, young voice of his was to make the hair upon one's neck prick in
supernatural discomfort. It was as though James Collins had come back to
life again in the form of this East Side youngster, who was so extremely
unlike his drawling, over-pampered master.

But Dollops had been primed for his task, and set to work at it with a
will.

"Been in these 'ere parts long, Mr. Borkins?" he queried as they all sat
at supper, and he himself munched bread and butter and fish paste with a
vigour that was lacking in only one quality--manners.

Borkins sniffed, and passed up his cup to the housekeeper.

"Before you were born, I dessay," he responded tartly.

"Is that so, Methuselah?" Dollops gave a little boyish giggle at sight
of the butler's face. "Well, seein' as I'm gettin' along in life,
you must be a good way parst the meridian, if yer don't mind my sayin'
so.... Funny thing, on the way down I run across a chap wot's visitin'
pals in this 'ere village, and 'e pulls me the strangest yarn as ever a
body 'eard. Summink to do wiv flames it were--Frozen Flames or icicles or
frost of some kind. But 'e was so full up of mystery that there weren't
no gettin' nuffin out er' im. Any one 'ere tell me the story? 'E fair got
me curiosity fired, 'e did!"

A glance laden with sinister meaning flew around the table. Borkins
cleared his throat as every eye fastened itself upon him, and he swelled
visibly beneath his brass-buttoned waistcoat.

"If you're any wiser than you look, young man, you'll leave well alone,
and not go stickin' your fingers in other peoples' pie!" he gave out
sententiously. "Yes, there is a story--and a very unpleasant one, too.
If you use your eyes to-night and look out of the smoking-room window as
dusk comes on, you'll see the Frozen Flame for yerself, and won't want to
be arskin' me any fool questions about it. One of the servants 'ere--and
a rude, unmannerly London creetur 'e